


Reflections

by ruric



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Community: slashthedrabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-01
Updated: 2005-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days Lindsey seen nothing but a reflection of the man he wanted to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections

The first time he'd seen Angel he'd been pissed. Pissed that there was a new player in town, one capable of taking out a master vampire and one of his most important clients, which made him look bad in front of the Senior Partners.

The second time had been in court. Angel had marched Marquez down the aisle – ruining a perfectly good defence that Lindsey had meticulously constructed over too many late nights – and had met and held his eyes. A long, unblinking glance which had been an undeniable challenge – one thrown down in front of a full court and Lindsey had never been one to walk away from a fight. He'd stopped being pissed and concentrated on revenge, preferably a long, bloody and painful revenge. Unfortunately that hadn't quite worked out as planned.

The third time had been in court too – during the Brewer case – yet another instance of Angel bringing the fight to him and publicly humiliating him. After that things had become much more…complicated.

He spends his life talking and thinking fast – devising schemes that would make Machiavelli's head ache and strategies so devious and complex they'd have Sun Tzu spinning in his grave.

Sometimes the magnitude of what he's seen and done weighs him down. On the days where he's talked and thought too much – until the words wrap around him, sinuous syllables, ropes of intonation that bind him tight and fill his head, making it impossible to string coherent thoughts together – his vision whites out on the periphery, hazing the world into ripped, shiny splinters and language deserts him. 

On those days he squints into the mirror and sees nothing but a reflection of the man he wanted to be and all he’s left with is the mute rage he was born with. Those are the days he goes looking for Angel. Somehow Angel always knows and is waiting.

It works the other way round too. 

There are days, nights rather, when Angel comes looking for him. He's gotten used to being slammed into the walls of underground car parks or snatched off brightly lit streets and dragged into dark and dank alleys. He's as likely to find himself on his knees, as with his cheek pressed up against a brick wall, a fist in his hair and the blood-heavy metallic scent of Angel's breath on the back of his neck. 

The thing about vampires, especially vampires as old as Angel, is that you don't generally see them coming. So he finds himself darkly amused on the evenings Angel stalks him, that he sees shadows out of the corner of his eye, a warning of what's about to happen. Warning enough that he occasionally gets the jump on Angel, and it's the vampire on his knees or pressed up against the wall.

He wonders what it says about him that the only two…people to have ever come close to understanding him, to knowing what he needs, and when and how he needs it, are vampires.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "sight" prompt on the LJ community [slashthedrabble](http://slashthedrabble.livejournal.com/).


End file.
